In Your Eyes
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA - Second story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. Does he love her?
1. Chapter One

This is the next story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Not mine. Darn.  
  
In Your Eyes - Chapter One A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Donna Moss hesitated at the door to Margaret's office. Her heart pumped up into her throat with the anticipation of what she debated telling her colleague and closest friend in the West Wing. She watched from just outside the threshold for a minute or two as the tall redhead moved with crisp efficiency, making sure Leo McGarry's office ran smoothly. With one more breath to push her courage forward, she stepped inside in time to hear the quickly moving conversation with the Chief of Staff.  
  
"Nine-fifteen, Minority Leader on the Hill."  
  
"Got it."  
  
"Eleven, lunch with Secretary of Interior regarding a new national park."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "One more for the President to visit. He'll love that." Donna smirked. Leo was not being sarcastic.  
  
"One-thirty, DNC chairman."  
  
"Cancel."  
  
"Cancel?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Margaret," came the exasperated reply.  
  
"That's one of those things that's not my business?"  
  
"As is most everything I do here."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Tell Sam and Toby I need to see them at two, and if Mallory calls while we're meeting, tell her I'll meet her at seven for dinner."  
  
"Where are you eating?"  
  
Leo stared at her silently.  
  
"Not my business?"  
  
A wicked gleam appeared in the Chief of Staff's eye. "I think, Margaret, that as soon as we have designated this new national park, you should be the one to accompany the President to its dedication. I'm sure he has a great deal of fascinating information to share with you regarding our national park system."  
  
"I'm shutting up now," she offered.  
  
"I thought you would be," Leo agreed and stepped back into his own office.  
  
"Hey," Margaret greeted, after his door shut, not really looking at her.  
  
"Hey."  
  
A moment passed in silence as Leo's secretary finished the memo she had been scrawling on a notepad. It was not until she glanced up that she seemed to realize this might not be a casual visit.  
  
"Hey," she repeated, but it became more of a question than a statement.  
  
"Hey." Donna fiddled with the folder she had clutched in sweaty hands. She had brought it to look as if she had official business with Leo's secretary; a cover, she supposed, feeling uncomfortably clandestine. "Okay. I just thought - " Oh, man. How do I say this?  
  
Donna could hear the alarms resounding in her friend's inquisitive brain. Margaret stood and walked around the desk, her willowy frame leaning forward with the obvious expectation that something unusual was up.  
  
"Can we talk?" Donna finally settled on as an opener.  
  
"Sure." But no one moved.  
  
"Privately," Donna hinted.  
  
"I just got here, but - " She stopped at the look of something disturbingly close to panic on Donna's face. "Okay. What the heck - Let's go get coffee or something."  
  
Donna smiled gratefully and the two women slipped through the White House gates out into LaFayette Park. They stopped at a vendor on H Street, but neither bought coffee. Margaret ordered bottled water, while Donna selected a Diet Coke, wishing they had Fresca, a comeback drink Ainsley had hooked her on. Settling on a shaded bench, they listened for a few minutes to the cacophony of the D.C. streets, blaring horns, rumbling engines, chirping birds, scurrying squirrels.  
  
"Okay," Margaret said, finally, back straight, hands set neatly around the plastic bottle in her lap. "What's up?"  
  
Such a simple question. Such a complicated answer. Donna took a long moment to compose her response, then began. "Suppose I knew of someone, hypothetically, who worked for a pretty important staffer in the West Wing, who - might be - romantically connected with a - high-up government official, who also works in the West Wing." She found her eyes falling below Margaret's curious gaze.  
  
"Who lived in the house that Jack built - "  
  
"I'm serious, Margaret."  
  
"Okay. I'll bite. How high is this official?"  
  
Donna's brow rose, but her eyes remained lowered. "Pretty high," she whispered.  
  
"Well," Margaret decided, sipping her water, "I'd say that if neither one is married, then it's their business."  
  
That's what Donna wanted to hear, but she knew Margaret was still making a woefully uninformed decision. "What if it might be sort of - awkward - and when I say awkward, I mean sensationally scandalous - if it got out?"  
  
Now Margaret's interest was piqued. "Donna," she asked seriously, "you're the person who works for an important staffer, right?"  
  
Instead of answering directly, she said, "Suppose I told you I sort of - well - have been seeing someone who - works in the West Wing."  
  
Margaret shrugged. "Seeing? As in dating?"  
  
"As in.I slept with him last night."  
  
Margaret's jaw dropped. "Whoa. Okay." Donna watched her eyes shift as she put two-and-two together and-- "Well, It's about time!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's about time!"  
  
Okay, what does she mean? "What's about time?"  
  
"You and Josh, silly," her friend explained.  
  
Donna winced. She really had not thought of Josh in all this. Anyway, he was still on-again, off-again with Amy.  
  
Margaret chatted on. " - knew it would happen eventually. Some of us even had a pool - well earlier, but not so much recently-"  
  
"It's not Josh."  
  
" -still I really figured you two would get - What?"  
  
"It's not Josh."  
  
"Oh." She was quiet for a long beat. Donna could almost see the possible pairings with eligible men in the office work through that quirky mind. If not Josh, then who? Toby? Nah. Sam? Maybe. Could be Larry or Ed. No, they aren't very high. Maybe a cabinet member? Surely not - Finally, Margaret shrugged.  
  
"Okay. I give. Who?"  
  
Who? Another simple question. Another complicated answer. Donna's mind created a montage of fresh memories: a rumpled bed, strong arms, insistent lips, piercing blue eyes, throbbing hardness. Oh wow. Desire flushed through her and she reluctantly pushed the heated vision away and tried to calm her suddenly pumping veins.  
  
All morning she had relived her surreal night in the arms of the most powerful man in the world. She had pondered what was next, what would happen. He had been gone when she woke, her red dress draped neatly over a chair near the bed, her shoes placed uniformly beneath it. And she had blushed furiously when Charlie knocked and discreetly and silently escorted her from the residence.  
  
For a while, she waited by the phone, just in case, but he didn't call, didn't send a note. She told herself that was understandable. It had only been a few hours. He was busy. But the aching in her heart deepened with each mute minute. Now, she began to regret saying anything to Margaret at all. She shouldn't have come, shouldn't have started this conversation. What had she been thinking? But it was too late. Time to put up or shut up. Margaret waited.  
  
Okay. Do it. "The President."  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't-"  
  
"The President."  
  
Total incomprehension swept a blank mask over Margaret's face. "Who?"  
  
Donna repeated herself with distinct diction, as if she spoke to someone who was hearing impaired. "The - Pre-si-dent."  
  
No change of expression from her friend. "The President of what?"  
  
"The President of the United States."  
  
Long beat. "Of America?"  
  
"Yeah." This would be humorous if I wasn't so terrified.  
  
Finally, Margaret shook her head, still not able to grasp Donna's message. "President Josiah Bartlet?"  
  
"President Josiah Bartlet - Jed."  
  
"OH - MY - GOD!" Okay. Now she got it. She emphasized each word loudly, drawing curious looks from passing tourists and business people.  
  
"Margaret!"  
  
"Sorry," she tried to whisper, then continued only a little more softly, "Let me get this straight. You and - you and - the President, I mean THE PRESIDENT? You slept with the PRESIDENT?"  
  
Donna nodded.  
  
"OH - MY - GOD!"  
  
"Margaret, you're not helping."  
  
"You're not going to blackmail him, or anything?"  
  
"Margaret!"  
  
"Okay. But you probably could."  
  
Donna stood abruptly. "I'm leaving now. Forget what I said. I was just kidding. It was a joke."  
  
Margaret stood with her and thrust out her hands. "Okay. I'm sorry. It's just that - you and the President - you - and - Oh - my - God!"  
  
"You said that already."  
  
"Right. Okay. Okay, what happened? And I want details, mind you."  
  
Careful to keep her voice barely audible, Donna briefly reviewed the events over the past months that culminated in the previous night's passion, delicately refusing to supply Margaret with too many desired details.  
  
At least a minute passed in silence after she finished. Finally, the taller woman leaned in conspiratorially and asked, "How was it?" Then, obviously horrified at herself, she raised a hand. "No! I don't want to know." But just as quickly, the hand came down. "Wait - yes I do!"  
  
Donna's wide smile and reddened cheeks sent a clear response.  
  
"Oh, my God!" Margaret squealed, actually squealed. Donna had never heard her make such a noise before. "Really?"  
  
"Oh yeah!"  
  
Now Margaret took several deep breaths, pacing in a loose circle. "Okay. Okay. So, what are you going to do?"  
  
The wide smile faltered and she plopped down hard onto the bench. "I don't know. Oh, wow, Margaret. I don't know."  
  
"Tell me what he said about.it."  
  
Donna blushed a little. "Well.not much. I mean we didn't really - talk while - or after -"  
  
"Oh - my - God!"  
  
"Would you quit that?"  
  
She had resumed her seat on the bench and leaned in closer to Donna. "Sorry. All right. Did he say he'd - see you later, or tonight, or some time?"  
  
"He was gone when I woke up. But here's the thing. I know he's not over the First Lady, yet. I can still see the pain in his eyes. And he was really, well, really hesitant to.I mean, I sort of - persuaded him - "  
  
Margaret smirked. "I'm sure that was hard."  
  
"Actually," Donna admitted, "it was." A fresh memory drew a grin to her lips. "Although once things got started, he didn't have any trouble-"  
  
The hand flew up again. "Okay. Too much information." Then she shook her head and swore. "Nevermind. Tell me anyway."  
  
Donna's alabaster skin pinked deeply. "Let's just say we were both pretty exhausted by morning."  
  
Margaret grabbed her arm. "By morning! Did you stay all night?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Did you - did you - ALL night?  
  
"Just about."  
  
"Oh - my - God!"  
  
Confusion swirled around her head, spinning her brain dizzily. "What do I do now, Margaret?" She held out her hands helplessly.  
  
"What do you want to do?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What do you want to happen next? Donna, how do you feel about him?"  
  
She tilted her head down, but her eyes looked up through the lashes. Drawing a breath, she admitted, "I love him."  
  
"Oh, Donna." A compassionate hand clutched her shoulder.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Does he feel the same way?"  
  
She shook her head in distress. "I don't know. I haven't told him. I'm afraid that for him it was just - physical. You know, it had been over a year - "  
  
"No wonder - " Margaret mumbled. Donna grinned in embarrassment, then continued.  
  
"Anyway, I'm sure he likes me and he cares about me. He couldn't have been so - he was so gentle at times, so tender - and he made sure that I-" She stopped, unwilling to share too much. "Well, it was special for him, I think, but I don't know about - love."  
  
As they sat quietly for moment, trying to absorb the sheer magnitude of the situation, Donna contemplated the question that was really starting to bother her. "Margaret, what about the press? What if people - found out? Do you think it would be bad?"  
  
Please say no. I can't cause him trouble. The press! Oh, how awful that could be. Yet, a sick churning rose in the pit of her stomach when she entertained the notion of staying away from him so there would be no scandal. I don't want this to end.  
  
Margaret shook her head, eyes wide. "Oh, gee, Donna. Let's see. The President of the United States had sex with a senior staff assistant thirty years his junior IN the White House."  
  
"Doesn't sound so good when you put it that way."  
  
"Could be worse."  
  
"How?"  
  
"You could have done it in the Oval Office." Suddenly, Margaret was all business, sitting tall, in decision-making mode. "Who else knows?"  
  
"Charlie, for sure - and Leo, I think."  
  
"Leo?"  
  
"You know, I think Leo actually set us up. He was the one who suggested to Jed-"  
  
Margaret flinched.  
  
"--to the President that we play Trivial Pursuit."  
  
Margaret looked at her from drawn brows. "Playing Trivial Pursuit - That's not a euphemism for - "  
  
She slapped her friend's shoulder playfully. "No! We really did play Trivial Pursuit."  
  
"How'd you do?"  
  
"I got creamed."  
  
"Literally," Margaret observed, deadpan.  
  
Donna's cheeks burned. "Margaret!"  
  
"Well - This is just - just - wow!"  
  
"What do I do?"  
  
Now, Margaret stood and paced again in front of the bench, arms folded, head down in concentration. "Neither Charlie nor Leo is going to say anything."  
  
"No."  
  
"And no one else has any idea? Josh? Toby?"  
  
"Just you and me." Uh oh. "And I guess the secret service guys that were there when I arrived and when I left."  
  
"They're sworn to secrecy, right?"  
  
"Yeah," she agreed, but she wasn't completely sure.  
  
"You have to act like nothing is different, at least in the office. Don't act suspicious."  
  
What do you mean suspicious? "Like?"  
  
"Like laying one on him next time he walks down the hall! I don't know, just.do what you usually do."  
  
Donna drew up her courage to face another dreadful possibility. "What if - what if he doesn't - say anything about it? What if he acts as if it never happened? What if-" Tears choked her now, and Margaret moved back to the bench and drew her close.  
  
"I think he will. But it's his move, Donna. Give him room. Give him time. Let him come to you."  
  
Donna sniffed, wiping her face with her fingertips. "Yeah. I was afraid you'd say that, but I know that's the only choice. Still-"  
  
"It's hard."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She sat silently next to her co-conspirator under the trees for a few more minutes. Turmoil roiled inside her, assaulting her with conflicting visions of tender touches dissolving into sensational headlines. What had she done? But more importantly, what would he do? As they rose, Margaret turned to her once more, seeking final confirmation against the spark of disbelief that was not yet completely smothered.  
  
"The President?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh - my - God." 


	2. Chapter Two The Red Rose

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: These are not my characters; I just like to play with them.  
  
In Your Eyes: The Red Rose - Chapter Two A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Donna pulled the note from her drawer for at least the tenth time since she had found it on her desk, nestled gently under a single red rose. It was late afternoon, several hours after her confession to Margaret in LaFayette Park, and she had returned, after filing several papers for Josh, to discover the flower. Now, she ran her fingers over the velvet bud that was just opening before she dropped her gaze to read the message once more.  
  
"'The red rose whispers of passion.' Thank you. -JB"  
  
Even now the words sent warm tremors through her body, both at the sentiment and the memory of that passion. Whatever the previous night had meant to him, he was thoughtful enough to know that she needed some contact, some acknowledgement, even if it was just a physical thing. No, she told herself, don't get into that yet. Remember what Margaret said, what you told yourself. Be patient. Give him time. So, as much as she yearned to rush to him, she stayed put, performed her duties as assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff, and tried to remain at least somewhat satisfied with the heated memories. She just hoped she didn't have to make do on that alone for too long.  
  
"Donna!"  
  
Josh. Great. What timing.  
  
He bellowed again, his voice bouncing from his office into the bullpen. "Donnatella! Where's that Kessler - thing?"  
  
Hoping that her very visual thoughts had not brought too obvious of a blush to her cheeks, she called back to him, putting the usual flippancy in her voice when she traded barbs with her boss. "Kessler thing? Would that be the KesslerTelegram? Or maybe the Kessler Corollary?" She had learned that one from the President when they talked about Teddy Roosevelt. "Perhaps the Kessler Doctrine?"  
  
He swung his body around the corner and hung from the doorframe. "No - the, uh, Kessler - Brief?"  
  
"I thought he wore boxers."  
  
His brow rose. "You, know, one day you're going to be sorry you were so mean to me."  
  
"I don't think so," she decided, but had pity on him. "Judge GLADYS Kessler's ruling on the RICO Act is in the third filing cabinet from the right in the records room."  
  
"Let me guess," he said, hand up to ward off her pending explanation. "Filed under T for tobacco."  
  
She smiled. "P."  
  
"P?"  
  
"Philip Morris, one of the main companies involved."  
  
"Ahh. Good logic."  
  
"I thought so."  
  
He stopped then, a little hesitant, and looked at her. "You okay today?"  
  
Uh oh. Play it off. "Sure. Why?"  
  
His head cocked again. "I don't know. You just looked a little - flushed, that's all. You're not getting sick, are you?"  
  
She shook her head and wished for a cool glass of water.  
  
His fingers tapped the metal. "Good. Hey, some of us are going for pizza later. Wanna come?"  
  
She should go, and not wait around like a love-sick teenager for him to call. He might have meetings, or something else. He just might not call. Go on with your life. But she heard herself saying, "Uh, no. No thanks. I've got - stuff to do."  
  
"Ahkay. Your loss. I will be at my most charming."  
  
"Well, that pretty much validates my decision."  
  
He was already headed down the hall. "Buca di Beppo on Connecticut, 6:30 if you change your mind."  
  
Looking back down at her hand, she caressed the note, then refolded it and shoved it to the back of her top desk drawer.  
  
The next day passed with no contact with the President, even incidentally. He was out most of the morning speaking at various fundraisers and a fireman's convention in New York. By evening, she had made a priority pile on her desk for the next day's consideration and headed out, deciding at the last minute to swing by Margaret's office.  
  
"Hey," Margaret greeted when she saw her enter. "How's it going?"  
  
"Okay." She could not keep from throwing a glance ahead. The door to Leo's office was open and the door past that led directly into the Oval Office. Was he there? What was he doing?  
  
"Yes."  
  
Donna frowned curiously. "What?"  
  
"Yes. He's in there."  
  
"I wasn't -"  
  
"Yes, you were."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I would have been."  
  
She smiled. "Okay. Maybe I was wondering, just a little."  
  
"I could go get him. Tell him Leo needed to see him."  
  
Horrified that her friend might actually do that, Donna grasped her arm, just in case Margaret started for the door. "And what happens when he comes in?"  
  
"I'll say - Leo just stepped out."  
  
"That's the most asinine plan I've ever heard, Margaret."  
  
"It was impromptu. Give me a few minutes and I'll do better."  
  
"You'll do better by dropping that idea." She did admit, though, she would really like for him to come through that door, just to see him again, just for a minute. She lifted her eyes. "Remember, you said to give him time. That's what I'm doing. I'm just - waiting. It's - his move."  
  
Margaret's expression showed significant skepticism, but she shrugged and said, "Okay. You want to get supper?"  
  
Donna thought for a second. Follow your own advice. Just do what you would normally do. You can't sit at home all the time. "Yeah. Okay."  
  
"Great. I've got a few things to take care of-" Before Margaret could get completely back around to her desk, that door opened. That door that was past Leo's door. THAT door. Donna's heart skipped a beat as the President stuck his head through.  
  
"Hey, Leo, I-" He stopped short when he saw the two women staring at him, a broad smile lighting up his face. Donna could tell Margaret knew exactly who that smile was for as she cast sly glances at her. "Uh, hi, ladies," he greeted, stepping into the room. "Is - is Leo around?"  
  
Margaret's lips curled into a mischievous grin as responded and Donna could imagine the mental images her friend was now playing in her head. "No, Sir," she said, "he's in a meeting. But he'll be back by six."  
  
"Oh. Okay." He lingered a bit longer, uncharacteristically quiet, then eased back toward his office. "Well, tell him - I'll catch up with him later." With visible reluctance, he closed the door.  
  
The two women stared at the door for a moment, then at each other. Finally, Margaret broke the silence. "Oh - my - God!"  
  
"You're not going to start that again, are you?"  
  
"Did you see the way he looked at you?"  
  
In truth, she had hoped she wasn't imagining the warm desire she saw in his eyes. Margaret's observation brought a shy smile to her lips, but she feigned ignorance.  
  
"What way?"  
  
"Are you kidding? He looked like he wanted to - If I hadn't been in the room I think he would have - Well, you wouldn't have been vertical for very long."  
  
"Margaret!" Her cheeks burned.  
  
"It was pretty obvious."  
  
Yeah. She had noticed that, too, even though she tried to keep her eyes on his face.  
  
"Are you sure you want to go with me? I mean, he might ask you to-"  
  
"No, you heard him say he was looking for Leo. He'll be busy. Besides," she whispered, grinning, "I wouldn't want to make it too easy."  
  
"You go girl. Listen, give me thirty minutes and I'll be ready, okay?"  
  
She spent the time lowering her priority stack, then headed back to Margaret's office about six-thirty. As she turned the corner just before she got to the outer office area for Oval, she stumbled to a halt. Straight ahead, coming toward her were Leo, Sam, Toby, and - the President. She heard enough bits and pieces of conversation to determine that teacher incentives was the topic. Toby's arm waved animatedly as he drove home his points. A few feet away, she saw the President look ahead and his eyes caught hers. The sudden grin that appeared on his face fell curiously into a frown and he faltered, Leo and Sam fetching up almost on top of him. Almost immediately, though, he recovered and they picked up the pace again, but she was a little disappointed that he didn't say anything as they passed, or even give her another glance. As a matter of fact, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid any contact with her.  
  
She realized with a pang that he didn't want anyone to know about them. Surely that was understandable, even if it was a little ego-bruising. Still, she understood, or at least told herself she did.  
  
The next day, Donna avoided looking at her note too much. Margaret was right. At dinner the previous night, she had told her just to be patient. Men needed time to think, needed to feel like they were taking the lead. Don't push. They had both agreed that this was the prudent course, so it surprised her when her phone rang and the very friend who gave her that advise was suggesting something completely different.  
  
"Hey, I just talked to Charlie and he's free," came the first words.  
  
Donna frowned in confusion. "Charlie's free? For what?"  
  
"Not Charlie, silly. The President."  
  
"Oh."  
  
When she didn't add anything, Margaret said, in a hushed voice, "He's free right now. You've got to talk to him."  
  
"Margaret, weren't you the one who advised me to let him make the next move?"  
  
The voice at the other end grew a little thoughtful. "Okay. I've been thinking about that. Maybe that was ill advised. Sometimes they never make the move, even though they want to."  
  
"Why wouldn't they make the move if they wanted to?"  
  
"They don't know they want to."  
  
Donna pondered that logic, suspecting Margaret might be talking from experience, experience with another high-up official in the West Wing.  
  
Her friend continued. "I think now you go to him. Talk to him."  
  
"He doesn't-"  
  
"Listen, he's a man. Men don't know what to do in these situations. You know he wants - well, you know what he wants."  
  
"What about yesterday? It was obvious he avoided me."  
  
"Oh, Donna. What did you want him to do, push Leo out of the way and take you right there on Mrs. Landingham's desk?"  
  
That vision gave Donna a momentary pause, but she still tried to protest. "I don't know - "  
  
"Charlie's expecting you." The click was final. Donna drew a deep breath and stood, making her way through the corridors, arriving much too soon at the Oval Office. Sure enough, Charlie grinned at her and, without a word, opened the door to the inner sanctuary of the President of the United States.  
  
He sat at his desk, the Resolute Desk, she thought irrelevantly, coat off, sleeves rolled up, tied loosened, glasses perched at the end of his nose. His hair scattered a little over his forehead and one hand rubbed pointedly at his temple, as if he nursed a headache. She cleared her throat quietly and he looked up.  
  
"Donna!" Standing, he dropped the glasses onto the desk and motioned for her to enter. "Come in, come in."  
  
"Mister President." He frowned a little, but she did not change her address. This was, after all, the Oval Office. Also, his hand was not on her breast at the moment.  
  
She stood a little uncertainly, facing him, waiting for him to speak first. His smile stayed, but it was a bit nervous, a bit forced. "How, uh, how's it going?"  
  
She smiled, too, knowing her expression mirrored his. "Good. Good."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Another few seconds passed in silence.  
  
"Hey!" His voice seemed unusually loud in the quiet and he lowered it. "We're finishing details on the new national park. Man, that's exciting."  
  
She nodded. "Yes."  
  
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued. "Leo mentioned that Margaret might want to go to the dedication. I didn't know she was so interested in parks."  
  
Donna fought down the giggle that threatened in her throat.  
  
"You two seem to be - friends." Was he fishing for something? "Do you think she'd really want-"  
  
"Mister President." Courage mustered, she didn't even realize she had interrupted him, so focused on what she was going to say that she missed the startled rise of his brow. "I just wanted you to know, Sir, that, although I have confided in one, very loyal friend, who would die before she said a word, you can rely on me not to talk about - well - about - us."  
  
From the surprise on his face, she assumed he hadn't expected that. "What - ah - what do you-"  
  
"I realize you are having to avoid me, Mister President, and I don't want - I don't want you to have to do that. I understand. I'll stay in my own section of the West Wing and-"  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" There was an edge to his voice that surprised her.  
  
Confused and losing confidence, she sputtered, "Yesterday outside the Oval Office - and the morning - well, the morning - after-"  
  
"Donna," he interrupted, stepping toward her, "I'm sorry I had to - leave so early. You know, I had meetings, and I didn't want to wake you. Did you - did you - get the note?"  
  
She nodded, blushing. "And the rose. It was a lovely gesture."  
  
"What are you talking about, then?"  
  
"Yesterday, when Leo, Toby, Sam and you were---"  
  
His mouth opened in connection. "Ah. Okay, I suppose we need to talk."  
  
She froze. That didn't sound good. Not at all. Whenever people needed to talk, she usually ended up with a broken heart. Okay, keep calm. It could be nothing at all.  
  
"Donna, I-" he began, took a deep breath and stepped a little closer, lowering his voice even though they were the only two people in the room. He tried again. "Donna, I did - avoid you."  
  
Her heart thudded against her chest. Oh man. This was it. This was where he said thanks for the one-nighter, it was fun, but -  
  
"You see - God, how do I say this?"  
  
She tried to keep the tears from her eyes. Just say it, for God's sake.  
  
Turning away, he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily. She saw his shoulders square, then. He was ready to deliver the blow. "Donna, I - couldn't see you - Do you know what I'm saying?"  
  
Sure she did. He had realized that he made a mistake, even though it had been good, incredibly good. Maybe he was afraid of a scandal, or maybe - maybe he was trying to let her down easy. It didn't matter. She didn't respond, couldn't respond for fear she would break into sobs. At least she could take this with dignity. He had never promised her anything. Never said he loved her. Never indicated it would go any further. Take it and leave, she told herself, then lifted her head and braced.  
  
"See, I couldn't see you - there - I couldn't look at you without feeling - "  
  
Without feeling what? Regret? Pity?  
  
He swallowed hard and turned back to her and she was able to see the softness in his eyes, hear the tenderness in his voice. "Without feeling you again, without remembering how soft your skin was against mine, without aching to be - with you."  
  
Oh God! Oh God! Tears clouded her eyes.  
  
Now he laughed faintly, just a breath, really. "And that would have produced a rather embarrassing - reaction right there in the middle of the hallway in front of everybody. I just - I'm sorry, but-"  
  
She stepped toward him quickly, forgetting where she was, shaking her head as she went, unable to say anything verbally, but communicating quite clearly with her smile and her lips that met his, halting the rest of his explanation. She didn't need it, anyway. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer, his mouth slipped to her neck, then he pulled her head down to his shoulder and stood still. Joy surged through her.  
  
For a very long time they held each other. Donna tried to memorize each contact point between their bodies - some were easier to focus on than others - so that when they were not together she could still feel him. Finally, his arms relaxed and slid away from her, and he stepped back a bit, looking into her eyes. The warm smile sent a shiver of anticipation and memory through her body.  
  
"So," he said, voice a little rough with emotion, "you're not mad at me anymore?"  
  
The laugh that bubbled up was a reaction to both the rush of relief and the thrill of his touch. "I never was mad, Sir-" His mouth opened, but she amended before he could comment. "-Jed. I was just, well, I was disappointed because I thought you - regretted what happened."  
  
His voice was soft, almost inaudible. "Oh, Donna. I don't regret it. I don't regret it at all."  
  
As if he was unable to stay apart from her, he reached out and drew her close again, his lips on hers, his hands slipping lower to press her against him. Oh my! He needed to stop now.  
  
Margaret's words floated hauntingly in her brain: "Could be worse - you could have done it in the Oval Office."  
  
And he was ready, hard against her. His hands had slipped under her blouse and now ran gently across her breasts, drawing a soft groan from her. She allowed her own fingers to move lower, easing open a shirt button just above his waistband and creeping downward.  
  
"Oh, Jed," she whispered and felt him smile against her mouth. "I'm so glad you don't regret this. Because I want it. I want you. I was afraid- "  
  
His hands slid over her hips and under the slacks. His own hips moved against hers and his voice was hoarse. "Afraid of what?"  
  
Overcome by his touch and the thrill of his actions, she found herself plunging ahead with the encouragement he was giving her. "Afraid you were sorry it happened, and I didn't think I could handle that because I love y- " She stopped, horrified. What had she said? Oh God!  
  
His hot kisses on her neck slowed, then stopped as he drew back slightly, his lips at her ear. Roaming hands halted. For a moment she heard only his breathing. What had she done? How on earth had she let that slip? Oh please, say something. Or maybe not. Maybe don't say anything if it's going to be bad.  
  
He still had not spoken, still held her against him. She wished she could see his face, but was afraid to look. Somewhere in her reeling head, a discreet cough broke through the tense moment.  
  
Jed jerked away like a teenager caught in the school restroom. Donna turned, gasping at the sight of Leo McGarry lingering in the doorway to his office. She tried to read the expression on his face: Amusement warred with horror.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mister President," he said. "I didn't expect-"  
  
"No," mumbled Jed, "I don't imagine you did - " He had steadied his breathing now and moved behind his desk. Donna figured it didn't matter really. Leo wasn't blind.  
  
When he looked up, his face was carefully composed, not revealing any reaction to her inadvertent revelation. Deciding to exercise the better part of valor, she excused herself.  
  
"I was just - leaving," she said.  
  
Leo didn't respond, but as she opened the door, Jed called out quietly, "Goodnight, Donna."  
  
She gave him a tentative smile. "Goodnight, Mister President."  
  
Oh, to be a fly on that wall. She could only imagine the ensuing conversation, and even though she suspected that Leo had arranged their earlier meetings, she wasn't sure he had anticipated this particular development. What was the President - Jed - about to say before Leo came in? Had she ruined everything? Stumbling back to her office, she collapsed into her chair and stared at the rose, its satiny folds opening now. She shoved her hand to the back of the desk drawer and pulled out the note, clutching the words to her heart.  
  
"The red rose whispers of passion. Thank you -- JB"  
  
Passion - not love. Passion. Did she have a right to ask for more? Could he give her more? Or was passion all he offered?  
  
That night, she lay in bed staring at her ceiling, her mind replaying her blunder. Maybe she should just accept what he could give her: the passion - and that was pretty damn good by the way -- and the friendship. But as much as she tried to tell herself that was enough, she knew it wasn't. She loved him. She loved him. And she wanted him to love her. 


	3. Chapter Three The White Rose

This is the last installment of "In Your Eyes," which follows the three- part story "As I Was Drifting Away." Hope you have enjoyed it.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: R Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. (sniff)  
  
In Your Eyes: The White Rose - Chapter Three A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
"Psst!"  
  
Donna heard the fly-like noise in the distance, ignoring it as she usually did pesky creatures that tried to distract her, whether they were of the Josh variety or the Sam variety.  
  
"Psst!"  
  
This bug was certainly persistent. Finishing the sentence, she lifted her head in irritation, prepared to swat away her interrupter, but the gesture faltered when her eyes fell on Margaret's long frame. Work forgotten at the intense expression on her friend's face, she lifted her brow in question.  
  
Instead of answering, Margaret shook her head, red hair bouncing briskly, and whispered, "LaFayette Park. Same bench. Ten minutes." As if she were a double agent, the secretary to the Chief of Staff slipped away down the hall.  
  
"Be there. Aloha," Donna added in her head.  
  
Despite her common sense that it could be anything, she knew without a doubt that Margaret's upcoming conversation would concern Jed Bartlet, and probably Leo McGarry. It had been over an hour since she left the Oval Office, disheveled and abashed at being discovered in a heated embrace with the President. It had also been over an hour since she had brilliantly blurted out that she loved him, and received a decidedly stunned response. Now, her heart accelerated in anticipation of what Margaret might be telling her.  
  
The minutes crept by, second hand surely running backwards. Finally, she left her office, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. Outside the gates, she barely kept from sprinting to the appointed rendezvous.  
  
"Hey," greeted Margaret simply, rising from the bench.  
  
"Hey."  
  
For a minute they just stared at each other. Donna fought down the urge to scream and managed to inquire calmly, "What?"  
  
"Maybe we'd better sit," her friend suggested and they both eased onto the hard bench. Donna's heart now galloped.  
  
"I couldn't get to you any sooner. Leo had me rescheduling meetings for the afternoon and tomorrow, but as soon as I could-"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Margaret sat with her usual ramrod posture and spoke in a low voice. Donna appreciated her newly found discretion, remembering that the last time they sat on that bench Margaret had practically announced to the entire greater D.C. area that Donna had slept with the President. "Apparently," her friend began, "after you left the Oval Office, Leo - confronted the President about you two. I'm not sure how-"  
  
"He saw us."  
  
Margaret stopped, eyes wide. "He SAW you?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"He saw you - doing what?"  
  
"Kissing, hugging - touching. If he hadn't interrupted, I'm not sure where - it would have led." She decided not to mention her blunder, at least not yet.  
  
"Oh - my -"  
  
"Margaret! Just tell me what you heard."  
  
"Okay. Well, that certainly explains his reaction, then. He really gave it to the President."  
  
Leo gave it to the President? Didn't Leo know? Oh no! He didn't know, or at least he hadn't known until today. Now she was concerned, for Jed, for her, for the entire situation. "What did he say?" Her voice squeaked.  
  
Leaning closer, Margaret said, "Well, at first things were pretty quiet, so I couldn't hear much. See, Leo had left the door cracked and-"  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Anyway, like I said it was quiet, but before long the President raised his voice and told Leo to mind his own business."  
  
"Really?" That pleased her somehow.  
  
"Yeah, but Leo said this was his business and if it became the country's business then the President might as well be ready to face another hearing."  
  
"Hearing? Oh God. How did Je-the President respond?"  
  
"He asked Leo what possible laws of the country he would have broken by spending time with a friend. That it had not and would not interfere with his ability to run the country. Then Leo said it didn't look like you two were just friends and where did the President plan on taking it?"  
  
Her nerves tingled; her throat dried out. Donna asked in a hoarse whisper, "What did he say?"  
  
Her eyes widening as she relayed the heated disagreement, Margaret answered, "He said he'd take it wherever he damned well pleased, and, while he was still talking, Leo called him by his name - by that I mean Jed - which I've never heard him do, and then they didn't say anything at all for a while."  
  
It took all of her concentration to force down the lump in her throat to keep from throwing up. What a mess. Leo and the President, best friends, were at each other's throats and it was about her. She had never intended for it to be like that. Never. Screwing up her courage, she said, "Anything else?"  
  
Margaret nodded, as if she had been waiting for Donna to ask. "When they started talking again, it was quiet, so I had to, you know, move a little closer to hear. The President told Leo how much you'd helped him get through a hard time and he didn't think he could give that up."  
  
Donna took a deep breath as her friend continued.  
  
"After a very long pause, Leo said he knew that and that they'd figure it out somehow. There was another long silence. Then I heard a sigh -I think it was the President - and someone headed toward the door. I barely made it back to my desk before Leo came into his office. He looked at me kind of funny anyway." Margaret finished her details of the conversation, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.  
  
Biting her lip, Donna stood and paced, her shoes making a soft mush on the grass. She wished she had heard it herself, even though Margaret's recollection was probably verbatim. She was eerily like that. Still, she could have interpreted vocal tone and emphasis. The way what was said was said. "What does that mean, he didn't think he could give that up? What does that mean, Margaret?"  
  
Her friend shrugged, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "I think he's the only one who can answer that."  
  
Donna let her gaze focus loosely on the rain that fell in lazy trails outside the window. The ancient hand-blown glass panes distorted the movement so that sometimes the drops seemed to jump up just a little before they continued on their paths to the groomed lawn. She waited by his door, calm and composed on the outside, but screaming and trembling on the inside. It had taken her all night to convince herself that Margaret was right. She needed to see him, to talk to him about - about whatever was going on. Charlie glanced at her occasionally, but did not comment. After several minutes, she heard the President's voice and smiled. He had finally decided to figure out the intercom. Charlie rose.  
  
"He can see you now, Donna." No smirk. Completely serious. Was that good or bad?  
  
When she entered, he was just standing and stepping from behind his desk. Glasses had been discarded already and he was in his usual office dress, but it was early in the day and his tie was still snug at his collar, his coat still on. Their eyes met briefly and he was the one to look away first. Donna knew he was unsure about how they left each other the last time. She also knew something he did not. She was aware of his conversation with Leo.  
  
"Hey," he greeted, slight grin sending shivers through her.  
  
"Mister President," she returned formally just in case the door had not yet completely closed.  
  
"What's up?" His hands had already made it to his pockets, a sign he was either very relaxed or very nervous. She was pretty sure which one now.  
  
"Mister Pres-Jed," she began and smiled at his widened grin. "I thought maybe - maybe I should explain myself for yesterday. What I said here, before Leo-"  
  
He waved a hand to stop her and stood quietly, obviously gathering his response. She waited a long time, over a minute, maybe two, before he spoke.  
  
"Donna, I-I didn't know how to - respond to that. I still don't." Although she tried not to react, the disappointment must have shown on her face, because he lifted his hands quickly, holding them out to her in supplication. "It's not that - I don't know if - Damn!"  
  
He sighed, shoulders dropping wearily, and sank onto a chair. Without looking at her, he said quietly, "I - care for you, Donna. I care - a lot."  
  
She held her breath. And.?  
  
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and lowered his eyes, not looking at her, not really looking at anything. "Abbey and I were married for thirty-five years. She was my - confidant, my lover, my children's mother, my soul-mate, my - life. I loved her so much." His voice cracked and she took another breath against the pain that flowed from him. After a moment, he regained some control and continued, still not able to look at her. "I know she's - dead. I know I have to continue living, but - giving all that up is just - hard. It's just - so hard - " His head fell into his hands and the tears dropped softly through his fingers.  
  
She wasn't sure what to do. Wasn't sure how to comfort him. But she couldn't just stand there. Walking to the couch, she knelt in front of him, took his shoulders in her hands and drew him to her. He allowed himself to fall forward for just a moment, then he pulled away abruptly and stood, moving to face the rain-spattered window, hands shoved back deeply into his pockets.  
  
The silence in the room was broken only by the ubiquitous ticking of the clock. Donna wanted to go to him, to comfort him more, but something kept her rooted where she was. His shoulders had stopped shaking now, and she saw him wipe his face before he took a deep breath and turned. Except for reddened eyes, he was composed again.  
  
"Donna, you are a beautiful woman."  
  
She blushed, just as much from the words as from the naked appreciation in his gaze.  
  
"And I want you to know that - the time I've spent with you - and I don't mean just the sex - well, it has been such a healing for me." Now he colored a little at his own frankness. "I wish I could - I wish I could tell you-" He faltered, searching for the right wording. "Right now, Donna, I - I can't make any - promises. That wouldn't be fair to you, but - "  
  
But what? Tell me -  
  
He drew another breath. "If it's all right, I'd - like to see you again - sometime - if you want."  
  
If I want? If I want! Her mind screamed this, but outwardly, she managed to be amazingly calm. "I would like that - Jed."  
  
He nodded, smiling just a little, but didn't move forward, as if he still didn't trust himself to be any closer to her. "How about tomorrow evening? Dinner?" He grinned now. "I sent Charlie out this morning to get a new version of Trivial Pursuit. All new challenges."  
  
"Oh joy!" she proclaimed, the sarcasm heavy in her voice, but her smile let him know it was a joke.  
  
"Seven-thirty?"  
  
"Seven-thirty," she agreed.  
  
It was time to go. As much as she wanted to touch him, to feel him touch her, she realized that now was not the place nor time. Even as intimate as they had been, he was still the President and he was basically dismissing her, no matter how subtle he was about it. Easing toward the door to the outer office area, she gave him a smile that she hoped showed her understanding as well as her compassion.  
  
"I'll - see you later," she promised, and closed the door behind her, feeling his eyes follow her all the way out. I'll see you later, indeed.  
  
Damn. Six o'clock. She had meant to get out of the building by 5:30, but things just hadn't gone her way. Still, she was ready now, gathering up her satchel and cramming in a few documents that she would dutifully take home, ignore, and bring back tomorrow. Swiping a hand across her eyes to push the hair out of the way, she swung toward her door and ran flat into Leo McGarry, whose hands came up automatically, steadying her. He dropped them when he saw she was not going to topple and smiled slightly.  
  
"Got a minute, Donna?"  
  
No. But you're the Chief of Staff to the President, so of course I do. "Sure." She leaned the leather case against her desk and backed up, Leo following.  
  
"Donna-"  
  
The minute he began speaking, she knew. She knew why he was there. Her heart sank, she felt sick at her stomach, dreading what he had to tell her, what he was going to ask her to do. Give him up. Let him go. But she knew she couldn't. How could she tell Leo that? But how could she not?  
  
"Donna, you know who I'm here to talk about, don't you?"  
  
She nodded, couldn't speak. Oh, she felt sick.  
  
"And you know that I - know about you and the President?"  
  
Another nod. How much do you know?  
  
Leo took a deep breath and shifted his gaze slightly, not looking directly at her. "When you become a public figure, you give up a great deal. Your private life is no longer private, never will be completely again." He turned to stare out her office, as if what he had to say was too hard to say directly to her. "When Abbey died, before she had even been buried, they were coming out of the woodwork."  
  
She frowned, confused. They who?  
  
"Do you know how many letters he receives every day from women, Donna?"  
  
No. She had not thought about that and the President had not shared it with her.  
  
"He has suddenly become the most eligible bachelor in the world, totally against his desire to be. At state functions they are like vultures circling the prey, like tigers stalking." He swung back around, his eyes sharp, angry.  
  
Why was he telling her this? Then she heard him sigh, saw his shoulders slump. "He's - he's gone through so much, Donna. He needs someone, but not someone who wants him because - because he's the President of the United States, because he's powerful, because he's wealth. He needs someone who - who wants him because of him, who'll - someone who'll be there for him."  
  
Me. I will. What on earth did Leo think of her? "Leo-"  
  
He held up a hand and his eyes bore into hers. "I won't stand by and see him used, Donna. I need to know-"  
  
This wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Leo wasn't here to berate her, or to scare her away. He was here to protect him, to protect his friend, his President, but not from scandal. He was here to protect him from heartbreak, from being hurt. "Leo-"  
  
"I have to know if-"  
  
"I love him."  
  
He stumbled to a halt and stared at her. "What?"  
  
"I love him, Leo. I love him."  
  
"Donna, he's-"  
  
"I know. I know whatever you're going to say. He's thirty years older than I am. He has MS. He has grown children." A smile curved her lips. "He's also smart and funny and handsome and sweet and-" She wondered whether or not to add this, and decided she would. "-and sexy."  
  
She smiled at the raised brow, but to his credit, Leo didn't comment on that.  
  
"He won't be President forever, Leo, but he'll always be Jed Bartlet." Of course, there was always the MS, but she refused to believe it would take him away from her. She refused to believe it would beat him.  
  
He took her measure, held her confident gaze for several moments. "Do you know what this could cause?" he asked quietly.  
  
She had thought about that, too. Had wondered what might happen. Okay. Cut to the chase. What do you want, Leo? "Are you telling me to stop it? Are you telling me to break it off, because if you are-" She couldn't continue and wondered if he could feel the anguish rolling from her.  
  
For a moment, she thought he would say yes. Please don't. Oh, please don't. But he shook his head.  
  
"No. No, that would kill him," he admitted, the long lines of his face seeming even deeper. He looked at her, eyes intense, jaw tight. "He needs you now, Donna. He needs the friendship, the companionship, the-well, what you are giving him."  
  
Blushing, she realized now that Leo probably knew everything.  
  
He cleared his throat. "I just don't know - for how long. I don't want to be - cruel, but I don't think he really knows - what he wants himself. Do you know what I'm saying, Donna?"  
  
She nodded, already accepting that fact. He had acknowledged passion, but not love. Had shown her tenderness and desire, but not love. Still, she would wait, since Leo seemed to be allowing it, maybe even sanctioning it for the time being. And in a way, Leo was looking out for her, too, with the warning that this all might be temporary. Well, okay. She was going in with eyes open. But, she knew, with heart open, too, and if something happened, if Jed decided not to - No, she wouldn't deal with that now. Patience. Patience. An easy concept, a hard practice.  
  
Leo was watching her as if he could hear her mental conversation with herself. After a moment, he sighed and stepped to the door, turning at the last moment. Almost in a whisper, he left her with his parting command: "Be discreet."  
  
That night, Donna lay in the President's arms, hair fanned out across his shoulder and chest, hand resting intimately at his hips. She dozed in and out of a dream state, her body pressed against his, replaying the delicious moments of earlier in the evening.  
  
They had laughed as they played the game, pretending to fight over pies and challenging each other's answers. Somewhere between the longest suspension bridge in the world and Scout's brother's name in To Kill a Mockingbird, the innocent teasing and banter evolved into less innocent teasing. By the time they got to the role Russ Tamblyn played in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the game was no longer the focus. And with her hands in his hair and her lips at his ear, the President didn't even bother to answer the question.  
  
Tokens still half empty on the table, Donna had quickly found herself beneath him on the couch, moaning at the touch of his lips traveling from her ear to her throat. He lingered over the soft swell between her breasts, breath hot against her skin. She fought the strong urge to make him go faster, to rip off their clothes right then and lose herself as he filled her. Instead, she swallowed and concentrated on where he focused, feeling the nipple harden under his wet touch.  
  
"Donna," he had murmured. "You are so beautiful."  
  
She had smiled and run her hands through his hair again. Man, he had great hair. She loved to tousle it and make it boyish. He moved back up to her lips, lying on top of her so that she was branded with the heat of his erection. She groaned at the burst of desire between her legs and arched her hips into his, grinding against the hardness, close to coming just from that.  
  
They didn't make it to the bed. Instead, she became aware that their clothes had disappeared and he was moving above her and inside her and she had never felt so good. Their hands ran over each other, their tongues did combat, their lips bruised. And when they finally climaxed, they both cried out so loudly that she was certain the secret service would burst into the room.  
  
As it had been the first night, they barely came down from one high before both were ready again. Now she lay against his shoulder, fingers stroking him, feeling him harden at her touch. It made her feel good to know she could arouse him so quickly. He shifted so that he could see her face. She blushed at the heated desire in his eyes.  
  
"Oh, Donna," he breathed, drawing her on top of him. "I didn't think - I didn't think I could feel alive again, after-" He stopped abruptly, and she searched his face with sudden concern, but he didn't react, just continued. "You make me feel so vibrant, so - so alive." He pulsed hard against her hand, proving his words.  
  
She didn't know what to say, so she raised up to straddle him and reward him for feeling so alive and for being so alive again so quickly. They were learning each other's bodies more, finding out just where to touch, just where to linger. She panted softly as his fingers danced around where they joined. He had discovered she liked that. And she drew a moan from him when she leaned down and teased his nipple with her teeth.  
  
He filled her body just as he filled her heart, and she couldn't suppress a brief curiosity for what he was feeling now. Was his heart full? Did he think of her constantly? Did he yearn for her when she wasn't around? Or did he think only of this moment, this physical act that brought both of them exquisite satisfaction, but was only an ephemeral sensation?  
  
As their thrusts grew toward orgasm, she whispered in her head, "I love you." His eyes opened, as if he heard her, but she knew he had not. Then, as the eruption overtook him, he grimaced in pleasure, thrusting up hard and bringing her with him, and she couldn't focus on anything except the incredible moment.  
  
The next two weeks were spent in the usual clamor of the West Wing. Josh worked almost day and night on the tobacco cases, and, as a result, she also worked almost day and night. They felt good about what they had put together, felt that benefits would come from this, but the hours were exhausting. She found herself trudging home and collapsing onto her bed, only to be harshly dragged away by the alarm a few short hours later to begin again.  
  
During this time, she saw the President only twice. Once, during a staff meeting when she was helping Josh report the tobacco progress. Their eyes had met only for a second and neither of them betrayed any emotion, any change in their relationship. She caught Leo's glimpse, too, and his nod to acknowledge her efforts. The second time had been in the corridor outside the Oval Office. Leo and the President were just leaving, headed toward the pressroom to practice for an upcoming press conference. As they passed, for some unexpected reason, Leo pushed ahead a little more quickly than the President, leaving the two of them almost alone. He didn't stop, couldn't stop without drawing more attention than he was already drawing just by being himself, but he slowed and touched her arm, just a quick caress, but the heat from his fingers burned through her sleeve and against her skin.  
  
Then he was gone and she was left with an aching, but smiling heart. That night, she dreamed of Trivial Pursuit questions and reporters' questions, and colleagues' questions. And she tossed in the covers, unable to answer any of them. But Morpheus had pity on her and later she dreamed of him. Dreamed of gentle hands and teasing lips and thrusting hips. Dreamed of a rich, warm voice and cool blue eyes.  
  
After that, she began noticing that he came through the bullpen at least once a day, spoke now more often with his staff, like he had before Abbey's death. Even teased Toby occasionally, which pleased the communications director, even if he didn't admit it. Josh told her the President had actually lectured him for a while on the irony of Einstein's pacifism and his contribution to the atomic bomb. All over the West Wing, people were mentioning the re-appearance of the President after what had been, for all intents and purposes, a year of isolation. He joked with them, smiled at them, and seemed almost, but not quite, like his old self.  
  
Yet, he had not uttered three words to her in that time. Slowly, Donna began to realize what was happening. It had worked. She had accomplished her original goal of pulling him in, of keeping him from drifting away. He was back, anchored now. And now, her job was done. He didn't need her anymore, at least in that way. He was Jed Bartlet again. And according to Leo, the focus of every single woman, and some married ones, over 21 in America, if not the world. She felt that his ominous silence over the two weeks was foretelling a turning point for them. But what kind of turn would it be?  
  
Another week of late hours and strained eyes and it finally arrived, the end of the grueling marathon sessions about the tobacco cases. And Donna looked forward to its completion. But that meant more time to ponder her relationship with the President, to contemplate why he had been so quiet recently, to steel herself to face the terrible possibility that his next words to her would be simply to let her down easy.  
  
Carefully planning her steps, so that she did not take any more than necessary for the gazillionth time, she navigated the path from the file room to the bullpen. Pencil clasped between her teeth, she rushed into her office, balancing the bulky legal briefs and a box of paper clips precariously, intent on dumping them on her desk before they could scatter themselves all over the floor. It was late, well after quitting time if there was such a thing in the West Wing, and everyone, even C.J., had left. But she had promised Josh she'd get those final papers organized before morning and she figured thirty more minutes ought to do it.  
  
Just as she began to ease her fingers from them in release, she saw it, and tightened her hands around her load, barely keeping it all intact. Biting the pencil in frustration, she deposited the books on a chair and turned, irritated, to get a better look at what interfered with her plan. A book, muted green cover with spots of hoar-white mildew at the binding, lay right in the middle of her desk. Frowning, she reached to move it, but something caught her eye and her hand froze.  
  
Lying between the pages, its long stem warping the lines of the book slightly, was a single rose whose petals were so white they looked like alabaster. Her breath caught in her throat at the beauty, and for a moment her fingers hovered, shaking, over the gift. Finally, she closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, gently ran her hand over the aged cover. The Oxford Book of English Verse.  
  
She opened the book to release the rose, lifting the fragrant flower and touching it to her lips. She expected to find a note inside, but there was none. Instead, her eyes fell on the open page and she saw the title of a poem by someone named John Boyle O'Reilly. It stood out across the top of the page: "The White Rose."  
  
As she read the first line, she smiled at the words: "The red rose whispers of passion."  
  
Of course, it was so like him to have pulled that from literature. A red rose to signify their passion. But as she read on, the sweet, gentle feeling that flowed through her chest turned into pounding waves of shock, because the next verse declared more:  
  
"And the white rose breathes of love."  
  
Her eyes darted from the lines to the rose. White. A white rose. "The white rose breathes of love." Racing wildly in her chest, her heart swelled with joy, with ecstasy, with - love.  
  
A soft voice from the doorway startled her and she started to spin, until the familiar baritone cut through to her brain. Instead, she caught herself and remained as she was, rose and book clutched to her chest, eyes closed.  
  
"It seemed appropriate, too, to select a rose the color of your skin," he said, his tone somewhere between the buttery seduction of a lover and the cottage cheese nervousness of a suitor.  
  
Slowly, she turned on unstable legs, willing herself not to lose control, not to let her emotions run wild, not to leap into his arms and cover him with kisses right there. But when she saw him, all her plans shattered at the expression on his face. He smiled at her, that most endearing, heart- tugging, boyish smile he had that always made him seem both mischievous and vulnerable at the same time. And he held out a strong hand to her, which she took, letting him pull her to arm's length.  
  
"Put that down, please," he asked, indicating the book and rose.  
  
They had already settled on the desk before he finished speaking. Taking both her hands in his, he clenched his jaw once, then began to speak softly.  
  
"We haven't had much time together recently. You've been busy and I've been - thinking about - things for the past few weeks." He drew a deep breath and worked his jaw one more time. "I have two things to say. The first thing - the first thing is not easy."  
  
Her heart fluttered, but she stayed calm and silent, waiting.  
  
"Being - with me will not be easy. There will be a great deal of speculation, tremendous criticism, cruel words, evil scenarios. Reporters who have never noticed you before will hound you. You'll have to have secret service protection. My own family might not.might not be understanding. And I have no inkling of how Josh and the others will take this." He clutched her hands tighter. "Donna, do you have any idea what this might mean?"  
  
Maybe. Maybe she did - but probably not. She didn't care, though, if he was suggesting what she desperately hoped he was. She nodded and tried to put all the confidence she could into the gesture.  
  
"The second thing?" she asked in a whisper.  
  
"Ah," he said, eyes going softer then she had ever seen them. "The second thing is easy." He raised a hand to cup her cheek with delicate tenderness. His voice was soft, too, but very clear.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Can't see. Can't breath. Can't stand. Can't speak. Can't sit. Can't - Oh God! Oh God!  
  
When she was aware of vision again, she realized neither of them had moved. His hand still touched her face, his eyes still rested on her. Slowly, slowly, she allowed herself to smile. His own smile, which had become a little tentative when she didn't respond, immediately, returned and he used his hand to draw her close.  
  
Very softly, he kissed her, just a touch of their lips, just a sweet pressure against each other. Her heart leaped up to meet his, her arms stretched around his neck, her lips deepened the kiss. His hands moved to draw her against him and they clung to each other, to what they had found together. She wanted to shout, to dance, to sing. She really wanted to shove everything off her desk and pull him down onto it and-  
  
A gasp, a choked exclamation drew her attention, and, with difficulty, she broke away from his embrace. There through the glass walls of her office, in the open hallway, silhouetted against the darkened evening lighting, stood C.J. Cregg, hand at her mouth, papers scattered on the floor. Jed, seeing the shock in her eyes, turned, and she knew her own expression mirrored his.  
  
Oh God. What had they done?  
  
"The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove."  
  
-- John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890) 


End file.
